


Christmas Tree

by WritingQuill



Series: 25 Days of Christmas Drabbles [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Tree, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash, and John just wants to sit on the bloody sofa and watch his telly, in which Sherlock analyses things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 10:11:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingQuill/pseuds/WritingQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock go get a Christmas tree for Mrs Hudson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Tree

**Author's Note:**

> Day five of the 25 Days of Christmas Fluff! No slash here, sorry, but you are free to interpret it anyway you want :) Thank you for reading!

‘Dull!’ Sherlock exclaimed for the hundredth time as he and John walked through the maze of pine trees. They were of all sizes: small, medium, large, fat, bushy, skinny. John rolled his eyes once more and finally gave in to his urges, smacking Sherlock in the arm. ‘What was that for?’ 

‘Stop being an arse! If you helped instead of stand around looking bored and whine like a two-year-old, we could have already picked a bloody tree and I could be sitting on my chair with a cup of tea,’ John told him, frowning. Sherlock sighed at that and straightened his back. 

‘Fine! I still don’t see the point of doing this, though.’ 

‘Mrs. Hudson asked us to! I thought you cared about her enough to do her a small favour. Besides, she couldn’t possibly carry a tree by herself…’ 

 

With a snort, Sherlock looked around the agglomerate of rather large, very heavy-looking trees. ‘Yes, John, because we can definitely carry that thing in our arms… I think you overestimate our strength.’   
John glared at him and walked along the exhibition to stand next to a very handsome moss-green, five foot tree. He smiled and nodded curtly. 

‘What do you think?’ he asked. Sherlock waved him off. For all he knew about plants and trees, he could really not care less about the ones related to Christmas. It was such a pointless holiday anyway, with all the “cheer” and the fat guy in the red suit, the bloody inaccurate reindeer - he and John had an ongoing argument about the validity of Rudolph as something suitable for young children, because as John thought it was good to present stimulus to a child’s imagination, Sherlock found it ridiculous that they’d be forced to believe in such a thing as reindeer with a luminous red nose - and all the traditions. However, he didn’t wish to upset John further, so he simply put his best fake smile and nodded in agreement. 

‘Oh, yes, that is a good one,’ he said, knowing fully well John would be able to see right through him - he was the only one who ever could, somehow - but would ignore it in order to avoid a fight. His flatmate smiled that “I-know-you’re-at-least-trying-not-to-be-completely-insufferable” smile of his and patted the tree. 

‘Shall we pay for it, then?’ and with that, they got the information on the sodding plant and took it to the register. 

* 

Walking back to Baker Street carrying the tree was the problem. 

They couldn’t take the tube because the bloody thing was too big, and no cabs would take them because, well, Sherlock admitted that he looked a tad deranged as he stomped along the streets muttering swear words and cursing every single person in the world - save for John - that had been involved with that particular tree. John just chuckled behind him, holding onto the trunk of the tree with his right arm, since his left shoulder was still not good for carrying heavy objects. 

The fact that it had snowed two days earlier - which made the streets all slushy and slippery - and that Marylebone was packed with tourists also didn’t help. Sherlock was almost crawling out of his own skin out of fury and boredom. Why had he done this again? Oh, yes, John asked. Bloody John with his stupid jumpers and stupid adorablen— No, Sherlock did not find his flatmate adorable, that was ridiculous. John was killer, a soldier. But he was also a doctor, a healer. And he had kind eyes. The kindest eyes that had ever come in contact with Sherlock’s. 

Feeling a clench on his chest, he almost dropped the tree. 

‘Are you okay?’ asked John, his voice dripping in concern. Sherlock pulled himself together and offered his friend a smile. 

‘Yes, I am fine,’ he said. He had to be more careful. Ever since the Pool incident with Moriarty and the Semtex vest, Sherlock couldn’t stop thinking about John. 

His “heart”, as Moriarty had said. Of course, John had no idea about any of this. He could never find out, because he was straight and a friend, and he’d leave. Besides, Sherlock didn’t even know if his feelings towards his flatmates were of the romantic nature, since he had never experienced such sentiment before. 

When he came to from his thoughts, they were approaching 221. Sighing in relief, Sherlock picked up his key and opened the door quickly, eager to dump the sodding tree at Mrs Hudson’s and change into his pyjamas and dressing gown to think. 

John smiled as Mrs Hudson thanked them, and refused the cup of tea she offered, saying something about “whenever you need anything”, which did not sound good to Sherlock, because he did not want to go back to that godforsaken place to get another tree. 

‘I was just being polite, Sherlock,’ John said with an eye-roll. ‘You should try that sometime.’ 

‘Uh, boring!’ Sherlock threw himself on the sofa and closed his eyes, hands steepled under his chin, and began to think about the nature of his relationship with John when he felt a pressure on the top of his head. ‘What?’ 

‘Move over, I want to watch the telly,’ John said, placing a mug of tea for Sherlock on the coffee table. Sherlock sat up and John sat on the stop he had vacated. With a smirk, Sherlock laid back down, head resting on John’s lap. 

For a second, John was startled, then he pondered, then he shrugged and reached for the remote to turn the telly on. Sherlock smiled and continued to think as a hand suddenly started to stroke his hair, making an involuntary purr come out of his throat. John chuckled and massaged Sherlock’s head even further. 

And between John’s fingers, warmth and that delicious smell of tea he carried around everywhere, Sherlock thought best to keep his thinking for later.


End file.
